Page 61 of No Strings Attached
I don’t waste time.
“Celia and I broke up months ago. I never told you because I didn’t want to make it a big thing. I didn’t want to talk about it.”
Her face blanches. “I—Henson, I didn’t know. I thought… I thought you two were still—” She puts a hand on my arm, her face crumpling. “I just wanted to surprise you. You’d been so stressed and busy these last few months. I thought maybe you’d finally decided to take the next step, and I… I thought I was helping.”
“You weren’t,” I say gently. “But you didn’t know.”
Mom exhales shakily, then pulls me into a hug. I let her, resting my chin on her shoulder as she whispers, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never would’ve done that if I knew.”
“I know. It’s not your fault, Ma.”
When she pulls back, her gaze is searching. “This isn’t just about Celia, is it?”
I blow out a breath. “No. It’s not.”
Mom tilts her head. “So who is she?”
“Amira. Somewhere along the way, I fell for her.”
Her face softens instantly. “I wondered. I saw the way you looked at her on Christmas Eve. And the way your whole focus shifted to her the second Celia walked in.”
I blink, surprised. “You noticed that?”
She gives a small smile. “I’m your mother. I notice everything. But I didn’t want to push. You’ve always been careful with your heart. And I assumed you were still with Celia.”
I look toward the door, pulse spiking again. “Amira ran. And I gave her every reason to.”
My mother squeezes my hand. “Then give her a reason to trust you now. Go find her. Tell her the truth.”
I don’t say anything. I just turn on my heel, and start running, the crowd parting around me like I’m some tornado they’re trying to avoid.
Because that’s exactly how I feel right now—a fucking storm with nothing left to lose.
23
AND THEN—BOOM
AMIRA
Soon, people will be clinking glasses, kissing their partners, making resolutions that they’ll break by February.
And I’m sitting on the edge of my bed in a crumpled gown, crying off what’s left of my mascara while trying not to choke on my own heartbreak.
This is not how I pictured my New Year’s Eve going. Not even close.
I press a tissue to my face and glance at the clock again.
11:43.
Seventeen minutes until the countdown, and I’m still stuck in the wreckage of something that never got the chance to fully bloom.
I want to stop crying, but it’s like my body hasn’t caught up with my brain.
A few minutes later, a hard knock breaks through the silence.
I sit up straighter, heart lodging in my throat.
One more knock.
